


Kaleidoscope

by Cryane (iwantcandy2)



Category: BoJack Horseman
Genre: Angst, Gen, Memories, Moving On, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:55:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24069988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwantcandy2/pseuds/Cryane
Summary: Why does Bojack keep hauling this junk around? He'd be better off if he threw it all out, instead of hauling it from house to house.
Relationships: BoJack Horseman & Diane Nguyen
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37





	Kaleidoscope

It’s amazing the sort of shit you hold onto, year after year. There’s very little Bojack has that isn’t new. He lost most of his old stuff when he lost his house, and then prison didn’t exactly let him build a collection. Whatever. He’s a celebrity; he can buy replacements. Even cancel culture can’t destroy him completely.  _ The Horny Unicorn _ puts him back in the realm of the wealthy, and it’s not long before he moves out of Mr. Peanutbutter’s house (god that yellow dog made sure to namedrop that reference as often as possible) into a place of his own. When he does, Mr. PB gives him a housewarming gift.

“What exactly is all this garbage?” Bojack asks, watching Hollywoob’s best friend carry in the boxes he had refused to move himself.

“It’s all your old stuff!” Mr. Peanutbutter says. “ _ Well _ , the stuff that wasn’t reposesed when you filed for bankruptcy. I’ve been saving it for you because that’s what friends are for.”

“Uh-huh,” Bojack replies, unimpressed. “And the reason you decided to give this to me now, and not the six months I was living out of a suitcase in your home, is because…”

“I wanted it to be a surprise!”

Bojack  _ is _ surprised, against his better judgement. He has a hard time believing anything escaped the grubby hands of his debtors, sold off to pay his legal fees or providing him some amount of comfort in prison. Honestly, whatever is in that box is probably too grubby to be worth the effort, and brainless Mr. Peanutbutter salvaged it because he enjoys playing fetch.

“Well, uh… thank you,” Bojack says. The words still feel weird on his tongue. Fortunately, the lab is pleased with any sort of positive reinforcement, even an attempt as shoddy as Bojack’s. 

Then for the first time in six months (longer than that if you count prison) Bojack is left in a place of his own. It’s a modest apartment, just somewhere to tide him over until he gets back on his feet. And hey, after prison basically anywhere feels like a step up. Plus, the complex has a pool. 

Not that he thinks he’s going to go swimming anytime soon. 

The boxes pique his curiosity, so Bojack decides to sort through them. He opens the first one and is greeted by the sight of the photo album Hollyhock had assembled back when she lived with him, a collection of old photographs of his mom.

“Well that’s enough of that,” Bojack declares to the empty space of the apartment, folding the box back up and looking for someplace to stash it. Except he doesn’t even have furniture yet, save for a bed too low to the ground to fit boxes. So instead of hiding the ragtag collection of cardboard in a closet, he repurposes it. One becomes his table, another his nightstand. He might be too terrified to open them, but boy do they come in handy when you need a place to put your keys. 

So the boxes become background noise, and Bojack forgets them as he goes about his life. He takes a gig as the spokesperson for mane-loss restoration, and that eventually gets him enough money to furnish his apartment. The boxes are relegated to a corner of his bedroom. He keeps telling himself to unpack them or burn them, but there always feels like something better to do.

By the time he is ready to move into a real house, the boxes are still there. He doesn’t want to just throw them away, because what if there is something in there he wants? What if, by complete accident, Mr. Peanutbutter had saved something useful?

(That’s unkind and he knows it. Mr. Peanutbutter is a good friend and he doesn’t deserve him.)

( _ Vance Waggone _ r on the other hand. Well. Bojacks can’t be choosers.)

Bojack’s new place is much bigger. He has a second room, what most people would use as a guest room. Since he can’t think of a single person who would ever want to visit him, that place instead becomes home to the boxes. They sit and collect dust for three years.

It is only when Bojack is contemplating moving  _ again  _ that he finally does something with the neglected stash. Mostly he just doesn’t want to find a place to put them in his new digs, so he plans on trashing the contents and making it the garbage truck’s problem. But there’s always that “what if?”.

What if there’s something in there he wants?

So he decides to rip it off like a band-aid. He sets a day aside and goes through the boxes, dumping them out and shifting through like a rustic prospector panning for gold. Also like a rustic prospector, most of what he finds is dirt.

There’s old newspapers and mail from forever ago. His slippers and house robe. The DVD collection of “Horsin’ Around.” Okay, he had actually been missing that. In his sorting, he comes across a tube. Like the container it had resided in, it’s constructed of flimsy cardboard, but smeared with a pattern like something out of an LSD trip. Bojack picks it up, intending to toss it in the “useless piece of shit” pile. Then he recognizes what it is.

An uncomfortable backseat in a car. A funeral. A bucket of chum. A forged letter and a moment of sincerity. All of these are associated with this bright splash of colors.

It’s the kaleidoscope Diane had gotten him that time they were in Boston together. Back before everything had gotten so  _ confusing,  _ when they were still firmly just friends and he hadn’t fucked everything up.

He hasn’t spoken to Diane in four years. She’s happy, probably spends her weekends square-dancing or whatever it is they do in Texas besides casual racism. 

Bojack lifts the tube, hears the dry rattle of plastic bits and pieces moving around. He doesn’t know why he’s even bothering with this junk. Maybe he just wants a bit of color in his life to break things up.

Well joke’s on him. The dumb piece of shit is full of dust, all the vivid colors of long ago reduced to different shades of grey. This thing wasn’t worth what it was bought for back when it was new, and now it’s just—

Bojack places it in the “eh, it can go back in a box and rot forever” pile. Even though there are other fragments of his friendship with Diane lying around (a partially scorched copy of  _ One Trick Pony _ among them) he feels like he can’t afford to part with even one. 

It’s amazing the sort of shit you hold onto, year after year.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if I'll ever write more for the funny horse show, but boy would I love to meet some more people who like it. Feel free to make friends with me [on Twitter.](https://twitter.com/cragboard)


End file.
